


To Feel Alive

by Ickleroonilwazlib



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sex and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ickleroonilwazlib/pseuds/Ickleroonilwazlib
Summary: Post-battle sex





	To Feel Alive

This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. 

The thought rattled in her head but it wasn’t enough for her to stop him pulling her underwear down in one fell swoop. His lips are on her stomach and though she’s never been self-conscious in front of him, she is now. Battle has left her dirty, covered in bruises and blood, to the point where she’d rather not have his face in her nether regions. There was no time after the war to clean up, not when friends were dying or injured, not when Bellamy and Clarke decided to stay behind at the mountain to bring all resources back to Camp Jaha. Hell, the only reason they found this moment together was because she had injured her leg again but it was a small injury, not worthy of medical attention, not when so many others were far more mangled.

Thankfully, his kisses trail upwards, towards her breasts and she gives in to the sensation, even more so when his fingers crawl down to the curls between her legs. Her legs are already shaking from his ministrations but it’s also the fact that he’s here, in her arms, after everything that’s happened to them Lincoln is here and it means the world to her. The bullet wound on his arm has Nyko’s paste on it, the smell pungent and sharp but she doesn’t care. It means he’s survived. It means he’s still with her and she drops light kisses around the area.

There’s muffled noise outside of the thin walls in their corner of the infirmary; she knows anyone could come in and catch them in the act but gods’ help her, it only makes her want it more. The fear that had been running in her veins had slowly turned into lust because he is alive, damn it, they had made it out of the war somewhat intact against all odds. She turns that lust into something palpable–it’s in the way she grips his shoulders, her steady grinding against those lovely long fingers, her cries of his name hanging hot in the air. 

She knows he feels it too. Lincoln has never been submissive but he’s always been careful with her; it’s something she’s been grateful for but not anymore. She’s not that girl anymore. 

Octavia thinks she says it aloud or maybe he’s always been great at reading her. Whatever it might be, he carries her to the bed and pushes her thighs apart roughly, entering her with a groan she feels rather than hears. Her legs instinctively wrap around him, securing him as deep as possible, pushing herself on her elbows, wanting to be closer to him. She’s trying to keep her cries quiet, muffling them against his lips, the hard muscles of his chest, against her own clenched fists but it’s no use. The battle may be over but it’s still in their system, the smell of war deeply steeped into their skin but underneath it all, their scent is still there, earth and musk combined. He’s holding her by the hips, a frantic pace set by the own beating of his heart, and she has no choice but to fall back on the bed and arch her back for sheer pleasure.

When she comes, he buries himself in her, as deep as possible, his forehead coming down to her chest to breathe her in, to feel her pleasure as much as possible. Without hesitation, Lincoln withdraws, falling down to his knees to taste her and Octavia doesn’t have the will or power to stop him. It’s harder for her to keep her moans quiet, her legs wrapping around his shoulder despite the injuries on her thigh and lets go of a few, way too loud “gods” when the waves of pleasure hits again.

He barely waits for her to catch her breath when he’s in her again, the noise of their two bodies meeting creating a beautiful symphony that’s too damn loud. She’s sure they can hear it from outside but she’ll be damned if she cares because he’s taken her leg and is currently kissing a line from her ankle down to the back of her knee that’s got her scraping her nails down his arm. There’s no more war drums, only the rushing of blood in her veins, and she can recognize the signs of completion on his beautiful face so she brings him down to her level, to look upon him as he spills inside her.

They’re alive. After so much time apart, they’re together. 

She’ll be damned if she lets him go again.


End file.
